Snapped
by Hope You Will Always Stay
Summary: All the insults and cruel words thrown her way had finally broke her. Now, with Amelia's sanity dangling by a thread, who can save her before that thread snaps? Fem!America/Russia. RusAme. Snapped!Fem!America.


**_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia!_**

 ** _A/N: Yeah...I don't even know anymore just go with it okay, guys?_**

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 _Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?_  
 _Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?_  
 _Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?_  
 _Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?_

 _..._

 _Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me?_  
 _Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?_  
 _Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?_  
 _Pointing fingers cause you'll never take the blame like me?_

 _And all the people say_  
 _"You can't wake up, this is not a dream_  
 _You're part of a machine, you are not a human being_  
 _With your face all made up, living on a screen_  
 _Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline"_

 _~Gasoline, Halsey_

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This world never felt like home, and I fear it never will. I'm trapped behind a courteous smile, wide and easy going, with eyes jolly and a pep in my step. I don't know how long I can continue this façade, how long I will be able to withstand this act. It hurts, God, it fucking hurts. I want to wake up from this nightmare where I'm constantly being reminded of my failures. I can't though because this isn't some bad dream where I can open my eyes and escape. The voices are there, constantly, and I can't get rid of them. I fear I never will and it terrifies me more than any skeleton in my closet ever could. I can rebuild a reputation, I can rebuild a friendship...but these voices will never leave me alone.

Everyone expects so much, it's like I can never escape from their scrutiny. Every time I look in the mirror I don't see the new, fresh nation I once was. I see a beaten down, battered, failure of a girl who was silly enough to think she could make it on her own. It's like I never stood a chance. A heart of gold and a head full of demons that could never be as mean to me as I am to myself. I try and try and fucking try but never succeed. I'm not heroine, no, I'm simply a failure. I'm colder on the inside than my empty shell of an apartment. It's like I don't even function properly, like I'm a broken machine. There's a flaw somewhere in my hardwiring, this I'm sure of. No other nations doubt themselves like I do, surely.

They tell me I'm running out of time, that I'm going to fall just as the Ancients did before me. It hurts, sometimes, and I cry. Other times it makes me angry. I want to show them just what I'm capable of, just what tyranny I could unleash upon the world. See the fear in their eyes because goddamn they should be scared of me. I could cripple them all, beat them into the dust. But no, no that is not what a proper heroine would do, is it? No, I must be kind and forgiving even when I want to say to hell with it all. I'm sick of all the noise that the world spews, senseless and of no use whatsoever.

By this point, I have found, I'm well acquainted with the evils in my head. I indulge sometimes in what they say, listening for a few moments before tearing myself away and reminding myself who I'm supposed to be. The United States of America, the heroine, the one who will save them all. What happens, though, I must wonder, when even the hero turns evil? I suppose you either die good or live to see yourself commit the evils you once condemned. I fear what I have become and at other times I embrace it. Sometimes I stare in the mirror and cringe and other times I smile.

Who's really in control here? I honestly cannot say at this point, I fear. My mind is like a deadly disease, flames engulfing my every thought and burning whatever I used to be to the ground. That innocent, young nation who jumped at the chance to prove herself. Who wanted to save everyone and would stop at nothing to help even her worst enemy. Now, though, I fear I have become selfish. I care for me, and me only. My people matter, my children, no matter what walk of life they are from. The ones who make me up, the ones who influence me. The ones I influence. I suppose America has become bitter, angry at the world for the constant condemnation.

There are some days I would like to see the world burn, and there are some days I would like it to prosper to an even riper old age. There are days I look at my fellow nations and wonder if they have these cracks on their hearts and their mines. Do they too tear themselves apart? Do people whisper behind their backs as well? Do they feel this confusion and pain? Sometimes I don't even feel partly human, like I'm a machine with a broken and mismatched code. I never ask, though. I keep my face made up, the smile firmly in place and never dropping my heroic mask. No one will see the changes even if it did drop for a few minutes. They won't hear the demons or the voices or my cries of help. I want to get better, I want to be happy.

But then again, maybe I like the way I am now.

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 _ **A/N: Okay! So Amelia has a few issues, I'm afraid. Anyways I tried to get that sort of cracked feeling across in my writing. Next chapter will have more than just her narration and we'll see Russia some.**_

 _ **Question of the Chapter: So. What's going on with**_ _ **Amelia?**_


End file.
